


Break the Lock if it Don't Fit

by Mythril (fantacination)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Black Widow's Thigh Choke, Kink Meme, M/M, Maybe with less kink, Sparring, keith is 19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7829344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantacination/pseuds/Mythril
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d forgotten many things, lost in the haze of pain and blood in the arena. The smell of the parched earth right after rain. The spray of the sea blown into his face.The way Keith’s eyes sparked like it held back lightning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Uncle! Mercy! Ow, Shiro, seriously, let go!”  Lance whined, flopping on the mats like a landed fish.

 

Shiro had Lance on the ground in an arm lock, one knee pressed lightly to his back to keep him from getting up.

 

“You dodged pretty well. That was a good punch you got in when you led me to the wall,” Shiro praised and unbent to let him up, offering a hand. His shoulder twinged a bit, but Lance had seemed just as surprised as he was when the hit connected.

 

“That’s me, master strategist!” Lance tried to enthuse, but it was clear that the session had left him a little black and blue. He took Shiro’s hand gingerly, finding himself hauled up quickly enough to almost tip back again with an unmanly squeal.

 

Thankfully, Hunk was there to brace him, a solid, yellow-shirted pillar.  

 

“So much for taking the top today, eh, Lance?” Hunk chuckled.

 

Shiro was doing one-on-one sessions with the team and none had lasted longer than a few minutes against him since they’d first started the Bayards-off sessions.

 

“Hey, I lasted longer than you, Mr. Under-a-Minute!” Lance whapped a mock-enraged hand on Hulk’s solid chest. “I’ve lasted longer than anyone has,” he added.

 

“That’s because Keith hasn’t gone up yet,” Pidge pointed out from where she was cooling down, half-empty space juice pack still gripped in one hand. A laptop was open and running alien code next to her hip.

 

Keith was stretching, dressed lightly, like the rest of them, in a loose shirt and the Altean-equivalent of sweatpants. As a culture, they didn’t seem to believe in anything that wasn’t some form of superhero spandex, but he supposed that made sense when you considered they could shapeshift themselves radically.

 

“You ready?” Keith asked Shiro when he noticed everyone was looking at him.

 

“I think I could go another round,” Shiro said, not even breathing hard, and the smirk that played behind his eyes was something he knew Keith remembered.

 

Keith got to his feet, a deliberate, lithe movement, almost languid.

 

Then, he charged in.

 

Pidge had tried to use speed and size against Shiro, constantly surprising him with unusual moves. While a good strategy on paper, it hadn’t worked against Shiro’s stamina and experience. Keith, however, had other plans.

 

Shiro was ready, body singing with the low hum of adrenaline.

 

Keith moved like something untamed, feral, lunging and snapping like a wolf. In the year since he’d last seen him, he’d honed his movements to something instinctive, reacting quickly, fluidly, like he was a flame in the wind.

 

In response, Shiro was solid stability, each shift in his body moving purposefully as the lion he piloted. It used to be more rigid, weighed down by drills, but somewhere in between running for his life and becoming a Paladin, it had gotten looser, more flexible as he was pitted against opponents that hopelessly outclassed him. Faster as his life hung in the balance.

 

He tried not to think about it too often. When he was just a little faster than he was supposed to be, just a little stronger-- what could he do but use it for what he felt was right?

 

Keith’s first few strikes were testing, getting a feel for Shiro’s range. He came in fast and darted back, refusing to stay still.  

 

Each hit ended in Shiro’s palm, no matter what angle Keith tried. Shiro sidestepped out of low strikes and waited for Keith to get impatient.

 

He didn’t really have to wait that long.

 

Keith feinted left, ducking under Shiro’s answering grapple and lashing back with his arm towards Shiro’s ear.

 

Shiro tilted his head, letting Keith’s fingers slide past, and turned to catch his arms.

 

Keith dropped quickly, twisting out of Shiro’s hold before he could get too comfortable and fell on his back on the mat, one leg snapping up to catch Shiro’s chest and tumble him overhead. His leg was one long sweep of black, chasing Shiro’s momentum. Keith threw his body after it, backflipping onto their fallen leader’s chest.  

 

“Ooh, fancy!” Pidge called, laughing from the sidelines.

 

“Watch out, Shiro!” Hunk joined in, teasing.  

 

Shiro wasn’t beaten yet. He grabbed Keith’s shoulder and pushed him sideways back onto the mat, blocking keith’s answering punch with his robotic arm.

 

“Gh!” Keith flinched at the pain.  

 

“Look before you punch, Keith,” Shiro advised. He would’ve cushioned it if Keith wasn’t so damned fast.

 

“Keep laughing while you can,” he breathed out against Shiro’s neck, face tilted a little too close.

 

It disarmed him, for a moment.

 

Keith took the opening.

 

He rolled on top of Shiro and jammed his arm against his windpipe.

 

Luckily for Shiro, this was exactly the kind of situation brute strength was for. He pushed Keith’s elbow up, forcing Keith to get off him.

 

He barely had time to scramble to his feet before Keith came at him again, raining strikes interspersed with high kicks, chasing Shiro back across the training room.

 

It was too tempting a target. Shiro caught Keith’s thigh as it came down, putting him off balance.

 

“Trying out for ballet, Keith?” Lance hooted.

 

Keith’s eyes narrowed into a glare and before Shiro could quite process what was happening, both of the Red pilot’s legs were on his shoulders, one hooked around and he was _swinging_ , using his thighs to twist around Shiro’s neck.

 

“That is _not_ happening!” Lance protested faintly.

 

Shiro had a faceful of Keith’s _crotch_ and two lean thighs about to strangle him. He turned his face and got a hand in between his neck and Keith’s inner thigh, yanking it down.  

 

Keith grunted, trying to tuck and roll.

 

Shiro wasn’t done.

 

He tightened his grip on Keith’s thigh, pulling it back against his own hips so he fell on his side. He followed Keith down to pin him, folding his captured leg up.

 

Shiro’s flesh hand curved around a surprisingly slender shoulder. Was that why Keith always wore that jacket of his now?

 

“Yield?” Shiro asked, knowing Keith wouldn’t take it.

 

“Not by a long shot,” Keith gasped, breath knocked out of his lungs and free leg coming up to kick Shiro in his gut, hard.

 

“Guh!” Shiro coughed, but he managed to hold on.

 

Keith’s palm shot out with it, hitting under Shiro’s jaw. He used the moment of disorientation to try to get out, legs tucking back-- except Shiro had already recovered, his hand locking around Keith’s wrist.

 

Keith tugged it back and curled into a barrel roll.

 

“Oh no, you’re not getting away,” Shiro said with a hint of a wheeze. He pulled Keith’s right arm back and turned him into the mat, hip-checking him from behind and bearing down on him with all his considerable weight.

 

Keith was streaked with sweat, his shirt half-off from the struggle, hanging off a hard stomach and pants that now rode low on his hipbones.

 

Shiro was dimly aware that that his own clothes were disheveled, sweat beading off his jaw.

 

His body felt hot, echoing the flush of Keith’s skin under his.

 

“Give up yet?” Shiro asked.

 

Keith struggled, pulling his arms back, but he was on his knees and his upper body strength couldn’t compare to Shiro’s muscle and leverage.

 

He bit out a frustrated curse. “Yes,” he said sullenly.

 

Shiro grinned at that familiar tone.

 

“Uh,” Lance cleared his throat, catching their attention.

 

Hunk had his hand over an unamused Pidge’s eyes.

 

That was--

 

“O-oh.” Heat crept over Shiro’s face  and he let Keith go,

 

Keith collapsed and rolled onto his back, glaring up at the ceiling. Then he glanced up at Shiro’s face and paused, the look in his eyes shifting to a puzzled calculation.

 

And that was the last thing he needed.

 

“Good work, everyone,” he said brightly, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth, tasting salt and a hint of blood. “How long did Keith last?”

 

“...Way longer than Lance, that’s for sure,” Pidge snorted. “About ten minutes,” she said after checking her phone. “ _Someone_ made me lose track.”

 

Hunk laughed sheepishly.

 

“Thanks for keeping time, Pidge.”

 

“No problem, you guys looked good out there,” she added a bit slyly, pushing her glasses up.

 

Shiro pretended he didn’t hear her.

 

Hunk, trying to preserve the peace, picked the ball up. “I’m definitely never going to be able to pull off half the move’s you guys did,” he sighed.

 

“What is _up_ with your legs, Keith, seriously?” Lance chimed in, recovering.

 

Keith’s brow furrowed. “What about them?”

 

“You kept trying to squeeze the life out of Shiro, that’s what. Where’d you even learn to do that-- thing.” Lance tried to illustrate with his hands. His fingers wiggled incomprehensibly, falling short of getting anything through to Keith, from the look on his face.  

 

Keith rolled his eyes. “I picked up a few things here and there. Are we done or are we going best two out of three?” He looked at Shiro as he said it.

 

“...That’s enough for today,” Shiro said. “Hit the showers, everyone.”

 

Watching Lance and Hunk jockey to see who got to the showers first, Pidge following more sedately behind them, he almost didn’t notice Keith’s stare.

 

“So,” Keith began, voice magnified in the emptied hush of the training deck. “About that talk we had.”

 

Shiro could count the number of times Keith initiated contact first on his flesh hand. It didn’t come naturally to him. Never had.

 

Now, the hand he puts on Shiro’s bicep feels like a brand. “I felt it,” Keith said, matter-of-fact. “Your dick,” he said.

 

Hearing it said like that, in Keith’s blunt voice, made him flinch.  “It’s a natural reaction,” Shiro pointed out.

 

“You said you couldn’t see me that way,” Keith shot back. “You said you’d answer honestly.”

 

“I’m not… I’m not _stone_ , Keith,” Shiro pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he’d made his escape faster and that there was a way to adjust his pants without drawing attention to it.

 

“But we agreed that we wouldn’t bring this up again… we’re in an intergalactic war lightyears away from home. I’m--” _broken, scarred and aged and I don’t know my own body or mind. “_ Not who I was before.”

 

“Neither am I,” Keith said stubbornly.

 

“This isn’t a good idea, Keith.” Shiro’s mouth is dry as cotton.

 

“I’m sick of your good ideas,” Keith said flatly, leaning into Shiro’s space and forcing him that short distance back up against the wall.

 

He’d forgotten many things, lost in the haze of pain and blood in the arena. The smell of the parched earth right after rain. The spray of the sea blown into his face. The way Keith’s eyes sparked like it held back lightning.

 

And the way his thoughts flowed into action without hesitation, without second-guessing, trusting in his abilities because there was nothing left to believe in. Angry. Alone. Aching.

 

The way he was made up of jagged edges that had nearly ripped the skin from his palms.

 

“You didn’t keep your promise, why should I have to keep mine?” Keith asked, soft, so soft, and it was thunder in his ears.

 

They were in reverse, Keith’s hand still on his shoulder, and he used that to boost himself up, bracing himself against the wall for that little extra height as he kissed him.

 

His mouth was hot, but it was the hunger that blew him away. Shiro’s hand curled in Keith’s hair and pulled him in. He caught Keith’s hip with his metal arm to keep him from falling and Keith _arched_ , arms tightening around Shiro’s neck like this was just an extension of their spar.

 

Keith tasted like heat and sweat, like hard things and molten things. Like a campfire and sleeping under the stars.

 

Shiro couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to, lips skimming breaths as he followed the pulse along Keith’s neck, marveling at how soft, how vulnerable this one place is in a body of sharp edges.

 

“If I couldn’t get over you when you were dead, what made you think I could when you’re right here?” Keith squeezed Shiro’s shoulders, “You’re so--- _stupid_.” He growled softly.

 

“I know,” Shiro closed his eyes, weak. Weak to the feel of Keith in his arms, the way his voice broke, the thought of him, in that vast sun-quenched desert alone and waiting.

 

“You can’t,” Keith panted, face flushed and mouth kiss-tender. “Can’t take it back. We’re doing this now.”

 

“Keith,” Shiro sighed, feeling his resolution fray that last little bit. “We still need to talk about this,” he said slowly.

 

Keith’s lips parted, ready to reply.

 

“But you win,” Shiro finished.

  
Keith stared at him suspiciously for a bit and wrapped those lean,wonderful thighs around Shiro’s waist. “Good. I’ll beat it into you as many times as it needs to stick.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro would really like to spend some quality time with Keith's thighs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't actually porn so much as a snippet of kink, but you have been warned

**A little bit of kink (some time later):**

 

“You… are so weird,” Keith gasped as Shiro kissed up inside his thighs. 

 

He was sprawled on Shiro’s bed, shirt curled to his armpits and legs spread, Shiro’s head between them.

 

“That seems a little sweeping,” Shiro raised an eyebrow, gently sucking a hickey where nobody could see it. It bruises darkly against Keith’s pale skin, a perfect butterfly mark.

 

“You keep… doing stuff to my legs.” 

 

“Thighs,” Shiro corrected, feeling this was an important distinction. 

 

Keith glared down at him. “You know what I mean.” His thighs were up on Shiro’s shoulders, knees hooked. 

 

“Mm, I just… wanted to do this after you kept-- wrapping them around my neck.” 

 

“I was trying to strangle you.” 

 

“It was nice,” Shiro said a bit sheepishly. “I’ll stop if you don’t want me to, though,” he offered. 

 

Keith looked away a bit. “It’s fine. You... feel good, too.” He reached for Shiro’s face in the V of his legs, touching it gently. 

 

Catching his hand, Shiro pressed a kiss into his palm. “Love you,” he murmured, watching to see the way the wonder reflected back at him from Keith’s eyes. 

 

Like he still couldn’t believe anyone could. That Shiro did. 

 

Shiro had always tried not to make mistakes. To not fail. 

 

And when he made them-- the consequences nearly always proved to be disastrous. But maybe not as bad as it would’ve been if he hadn’t. 

 

If this was a mistake- and he still stayed up some nights afraid it was- he’d gladly trade his other arm for it. 

 

“I… you-- me too,” Keith whispered back.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTES:  
> Initially for: https://voltron-kink.dreamwidth.org/1161.html?thread=112265#cmt112265  
> Inspired by this amazing art series by Barely Sirius over at tumblr: http://barelysirius.tumblr.com/post/147584726422/these-are-bigger-than-you-think 
> 
>  
> 
> A/N:  
> I… I was supposed to stop somewhere and got… angry makeouts. Keith is just v passionate ok.  
> First postable fic in like, a decade! /cry


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